Happy Birthday Bucky Barnes
by usa123
Summary: Steve does not leave Bucky in cryo on his 100th birthday. No slash, no ships. Cover art used with permission.


**A/N: There have been a lot of posts floating around saying Bucky will probably be in cryo on his 100th birthday. With all due respect to them, I disagree. If my best friend was in cryo after 70 years of being a Hydra assassin, you could be sure I'd wake her up in order to try to make up for celebrations lost.**

 **A/N 2: I know I'm a day late. I tried unbelievably hard to get this posted yesterday but Real Life had other plans. I hope you enjoy all the same.**

 **Cover art is the work of sebstantho on Tumblr:** **post (slash) 158247847559** **. I was granted permission to use it, so please don't sue.**

* * *

When Bucky came to, it took a while for his eyes to adjust. He was aware of looking through them but they weren't focused, as if his brain wasn't quite awake enough for that yet. What he could make out was a mishmash of colors, some long, some circle-ish. In front of them was a tannish blob.

Bucky blinked and that blob sharpened into Steve, who was wearing a brightly-colored paper cone on his head.

Barnes opened his mouth to ask a very important question but immediately coughed, the sound grating against his vocal cords. Steve's hand disappeared out of Bucky's field of vision but quickly returned with a glass of water, which was then held to his lips. Bucky wanted to take the glass himself but knew his hands would be too shaky to hold it—they always were coming out of cryo. _Temporarily_ resigning himself to Steve's care, he emptied the glass in three large gulps.

Steve's mouth moved and it took Bucky a second to realize that his friend had asked if he wanted more.

Not trusting his own voice yet, Bucky just nodded. Steve's hand moved again but this time Bucky rolled his head slightly so he could track it, finding a small table off to his left, set with a vase full of flowers and a pitcher of water.

Steve refilled the glass and held it out to Bucky, who drank it just as fast as the first. Before Steve could ask if he wanted another, Barnes cleared his throat then rasped out, "Did they fix me?"

The smile on Steve's face dropped away, giving Bucky the answer long before his friend actually said, "No, not yet."

Bucky screwed his eyes closed and swallowed hard, forcing down the hope that had risen in his chest. At the same time though, he began wondering why Steve had woken him up, if it wasn't to share that tidbit of news. His friend wasn't cruel enough to wake him for no reason—at least not that he remembered. Something had to have happened and, if they needed him, it must not have been good.

Bucky took a long breath than opened his eyes again. "Then why'm I up?" he grunted.

Steve bent down, picked something off the floor, and held it out to Bucky. It took the sniper's eyes a moment to adjust but he could soon make out a small cupcake with a "100" candle sticking out of it.

"It's your 100th birthday," Steve said slowly, tilting his head at the brightly colored mess behind him.

Bucky took a more critical look, seeing for the first time the streamers hanging from the ceiling, topped with an assortment of equally loud balloons. "100, huh," he repeated, watching the frown slowly fade from Steve's face. As hard as it was for him to deal with the realization he wasn't fixed, that he could still be a danger to his friends, it was obvious Steve had thought this was a good idea. He'd already put in quite a bit of effort, judging by the room's decorations, and it would be a shame to let them all go to waste...

"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to," Steve spoke up, suddenly self-conscious. "I just thought…"

What the hell.

"I assume you have some sort of plan?" Bucky went to sit up but found his limbs still unresponsive—as in, no movement _at all_ , not typical post-cryo sluggishness. "What's wrong with me?" he demanded, trying more fervently to get his body to move while struggling to keep his impending panic at bay.

Steve reached over and rested his hand against Bucky's chest. "The doctors wanted to be sure you wouldn't be in any pain as you woke up," he explained as quickly as he could. "They're worried they might have overdone the dose and assure me they'll have it dialed in for next time."

Barnes wasn't sure if Steve's hand on his chest was to comfort him or keep him from moving but something about the contact, combined with Steve's words, slowed his heartbeat back to a reasonable level. "It is going to wear off, right?" he asked as horrible thoughts of being confined to this room for life began shoving their way into his head.

Steve's expression sobered and he sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. "Of course. Shouldn't be more than," he turned his head to look at the digital clock hanging next to the doorway, "half an hour or so now."

"So I'm stuck here for that time."

Steve nodded. "While we wait though…" he held up one finger, signaling he needed a moment, then walked over to the door. "I'll be right back, I promise," he said before disappearing into the hallway.

Bucky nodded despite the panic raging through his system at full strength. With great effort, he forced himself to breathe, to trust: Rogers hadn't led him astray before, there was no reason to assume he would start now…

Not sixty seconds later, Rogers walked back into the room followed by T'Challa who was carrying a long black box.

"Your highness," Bucky said respectfully, once again trying to force his limbs into a coordinated show of his gratitude. Despite the fact the king had spent a week trying to kill him, once T'Challa had realized Bucky hadn't killed his father, he had offered the entire team sanctuary in Wakanda as well as the opportunity for Bucky to safely go back into cryo while the kingdom's best engineers worked on a solution to the trigger words. Some show of respect here was the least Bucky could do to repay the man's kindness.

Despite his wishes though, his body remained immobile.

"T'Challa, please," the king was quick to correct. "I hope your awakening was as pleasant as could be expected. The doctors assured me you would not be in any pain, which was the only reason we began to consider Captain Rogers' plan."

"I am in no pain," Bucky confirmed, his eyes drawn to the box. He considered being concerned but given how casually Steve was standing there, he allowed himself to relax slightly.

T'Challa followed his gaze and smiled warmly. "I hear it is your 100th birthday, Sergeant Barnes."

"Bucky is fine."

The king nodded his understanding before continuing, "Living past one hundred is quite a feat in my country and, when these days occur, they are met with great celebration. I hope you do not mind that we have taken the liberty of doing the same for you.

"It is customary for the celebrant to receive great gifts, lauding them and their accomplishments over the past century. Unfortunately I am not familiar enough with your country or your history to provide a gift of that magnitude. I am hoping though that you will appreciate this one all the same." T'Challa shifted the box into one arm and pulled back the lid with the other, tilting it slightly downward so Bucky could see a new metal arm resting against the velvet.

Bucky blinked hard as conflicting feelings battled in his chest. There was so much bad associated with that arm, so many things he'd had to do with it that he was just regaining memory of; yet the arm also provided stability and peace of mind, along with a sense of balance that went beyond the physical.

In the end there was no contest. "Thank you, T'Challa," he said, managing to tip his chin down slightly.

"Dr. Sarr has said she can attach it while the pain medication is still in your system if you would like."

"I would," Bucky replied without hesitation.

"I will send her in then," T'Challa said as he closed the lid of the box and placed it on the side table next to the vase. "I am scheduled for a great many meetings today so I will not be able to attend any of your festivities. However, if I do not see you, even in passing, I hope you have a wonderful celebration, Bucky."

"Thank you. For everything," Barnes managed around the lump building in his throat but it was too late: T'Challa had already left the room.

Almost instantaneously, a middle-aged woman in normal clothes entered. Everything about her screamed "non-combatant" from her hair, which flew free around her face instead of being tightly pulled back, to her lack of a lab coat. In fact, the only hints that she was a medical professional were the bright blue stethoscope draped around her neck and the small badge clipped to her dress pants.

Bucky was expecting the same reaction he'd had nine months ago, when he'd first been brought to Wakanda and had faced an army of lab coats, who, in their defense, had only been trying to help him. To his surprise, his breath only hitched slightly and his heart rate barely increased at the sight of the woman in front of him.

"Hello Sergeant Barnes," she said in a heavily accented voice. "I am Dr. Sarr. We have met briefly before, right after you were brought in. I do not expect you to remember me as those hours were considerably chaotic." She walked over to his bed and looked above him, at what presumably was a series of screens and readouts. After a moment, she looked back down at him, her gaze soft and caring. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Please call me Bucky. And I'm fine," he said curtly but not unkindly. He appreciated her efforts to put him as ease but he still remained alert and on edge, as he'd had too many experiences with evil doctors in the past.

"If you will permit me, _Bucky_ , I need to do a quick physical exam now that you are awake," she continued.

"Do I have a choice?"

She looked at him in surprise. "Of course. But it will make it easier to reattach your arm if we can quantify your vital signs."

In the blink of an eye, Steve's hand was on his. _I'm not going anywhere_ , his friend's expression seemed to say.

And that was enough for Barnes. He turned back to Dr. Sarr and nodded.

She must have remembered his inherent distrust of doctors, since she was sure to explain everything she was doing during the examination and question if he was alright numerous times.

"You look to be coming out of cryo quite nicely," she finally declared. "We will need to move quickly now to not cause you further discomfort."

" _Further_?" Steve repeated, now looking incredibly distressed. "You mean he's in pain now?"

" _He's_ right here," Bucky intervened, seeing Steve's question was directed at Dr. Sarr. "And _he_ is currently fine."

"Still, we mustn't tarry." Moving quite quickly overall, but slowly enough that Bucky could stop her if he needed, Dr. Sarr removed the thin black cap from Bucky's shoulder then lifted one of the bottom plates. The rest of the metal shoulder immediately detached itself, leaving just the junction to his flesh.

"I didn't know it did that," Bucky commented as he stared at ragged remains of his metal arm.

"My colleagues adjusted the socket while you were coming out of cryo in anticipation of your response. This way, we can connect your new arm much more easily." She walked over to the side table then looked up sharply. "Please forgive us if that was too much of an intrusion."

"Just get my arm on and we'll call it even."

"Yes, of course." She lifted the new arm out of the box then laid it beside Bucky on the stretcher, rolling it once in order to line it up with his shoulder. "Please confirm that you do not feel this," she said as she slipped on a set of gloves and gently prodded the inside of the juncture.

"I feel nothing."

"Then we shall begin."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Dr. Sarr straightened up and began stripping off her gloves. "I do believe I am done. Please try to wiggle your fingers."

Bucky concentrated with all his might and grinned as his metal fingers moved in response to his brain's commands.

"Good!" she praised. She opened her mouth to continue her instructions but Bucky felt a tickling sensation in his flesh arm. Feeling hopeful, he turned his head away from Dr. Sarr and attempted the same procedure with his real fingers, grinning even wider when the result was replicated.

The doctor's expression shifted to match his own. "It appears our anesthetic has worn off. If you will permit me to finish my examination of your left arm, we can get you out of here."

Bucky nodded and followed her instructions, moving his wrist then his forearm, then his shoulder. When he felt comfortable, he slowly sat up, though Steve and Dr. Sarr's hands were never far away in case he lost his balance.

Once he was stable, Dr. Sarr instructed him to roll his shoulder, in order to test his whole range of motion. He moved his arm in a vertical arc, feeling some of the plates grind together.

"Let me," Dr. Sarr said, quickly adjusting some of the plates with pliers. "Please try again."

This time, he was able to move his arm without any additional issues. After having him swing his arm in a horizontal circle then lift his arm up to his ear, Dr. Sarr declared the new arm working properly.

"Now, if you're feeling well enough, we could try standing."

"Absolutely." Bucky quickly shuffled to the edge of the bed, only wobbling slightly as his brain got ahead of his still addled muscles.

"Maybe we should wait," Steve said with concern, resting his hand on Bucky's flesh shoulder.

"Hell no." Before anyone could object, Bucky pushed off the table with his arms, launching himself upright.

"Well that's one way to do it," Dr. Sarr clucked, looking over Barnes' shoulder to check his vitals onscreen.

Bucky turned his head and read the numbers for himself, quickly determining they were all in a normal range. "Can I go now?"

"Of course." As Bucky began freeing himself from the monitoring equipment, Dr. Sarr added, "We only ask you stay in the building for the next half hour or so until the anesthesia wears off in its entirety. After that, you are free to do whatever you wish."

With that, she bowed her head then left the room before Bucky had a chance to reply.

"Thank you, Dr. Sarr!" he called down the hallway, receiving a chuckled, "You are most welcome," in response.

Then, Bucky twisted from the waist, feeling his back crack no less than ten times, before turning to Steve. "Where to?"

"Where to, what?"

"If you went through all this trouble to wake me up, you must have a whole day planned, right?"

Steve's expression flashed to hopeful before he schooled on a mask of indifference. "You remember?" he asked as levelly as he could.

"Some of it. We didn't have much, did we?"

"No."

"But they were some of the happiest days of my life."

Steve's face did that thing where he smiled but his eyes remained downturned, like he was seconds away from having a real bout of emotions.

Bucky reached out and grabbed Steve's shoulder, surprising himself with the familiarity of the gesture. "I know you are not about to cry on my birth—" He broke off as he realized what had been bothering him for the last half hour. "How did T'Challa make me a new arm?" he demanded, turning so he faced Steve directly. "He doesn't still have..."

Steve shook his head. "We couldn't find your original one in Siberia."

Bucky remained silent, waiting for Steve to explain.

The soldier shifted his weight then scrubbed at the back of his neck. "A few months ago, an envelope arrived, addressed to you, care of King T'Challa in Wakanda. No return address. It was the schematics for your arm."

"Stark," Bucky surmised.

"Probably."

Bucky looked down at his arm, at each of the intertwining plates, watched how they moved in perfect harmony when he clenched his fist.

Steve must have misinterpreted the silence as concern for he said, "We checked the whole package with all of Wakanda's tech. There weren't any tracers or bugs. Just the booklet."

Bucky nodded absently, continuing to stare at the incredible gift he'd been given. The arm was lighter than before, didn't pull so much on his upper back. He wondered how much of that was the new design or how much was just better technology from the Wakandans.

"I guess I should thank him," he said after a long moment. And he meant it. He would have probably done the same thing if he'd been in Stark's shoes and found out who had murdered his family. He didn't hold it against the inventor; it was an unwinnable situation from either standpoint.

Steve's face fractured, a sad smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I think he'd appreciate that...but not today," he finished, blinking away the sadness. "Today, we have plans."

He sounded so excited Bucky just sighed resignedly. Tamping down on his general sadness and unease at his whole situation, he forced a smile on his face and tilted his head to look at Steve. "What's first?"

* * *

 _First_ ended up being a hike around the hills of Wakanda, ending just below the mouth of the huge Black Panther statue. Bucky gave the status its due distance, sitting as far from it as possible, in case it was as powerful as the people believed. Other than that, he was greatly enjoying the warm air, the light breeze and the sunlight beating against his face.

"A picnic?" he asked when he turned back around to see Steve opening up his massive backpack and unloading a series of wrapped items that smelled amazing.

"We can go back to the hospital if you prefer," Steve deadpanned as he pulled one corner off of a dish and waved it in the air, sending mouthwatering smells wafting towards Bucky.

"Or we could just eat here," Barnes said nonchalantly, dropping to the ground beside his friend.

"Uh-huh." Steve rolled his eyes but thankfully let the subject drop. He then proceeded to unload eleven large containers from his backpack and uncover them, the wonderful smells blending perfectly together. As he was doing this, Bucky narrowed his eyes at the bag, trying to determine if there was magic or Ant-Man's abilities at play since the pack was in no way big enough for all those dishes.

He must have been staring at it for longer than he thought because suddenly Steve's hand was waving in front of his eyes. Bucky snapped upright to see Steve ask, "Something wrong?"

He shook his head. "No, just…" After a brief pause, he motioned to the food around them, "...taking it all in."

"Well you don't have to just look," Steve said, holding out a fork and knife. "Dig in."

And Bucky did. He ate until he felt like he was going to throw it all up, at which point he only stopped briefly before helping himself to another full plate. At some point, Steve took the time to explain what everything was but Bucky barely paid it any attention—all he knew was that it was all amazing and he was starving.

When they were both done, they laid down beside the spotless dishes, faces turned up to the sun.

A comfortable silence settled over the two of them until the uneasy feeling in Bucky's stomach that had begun about midway through their hike ratcheted up. He knew there was no way he'd be able to enjoy the rest of the day until he got his question answered, no matter how unpleasant the answer ended up being. He took a deep breath, steeled his expression, then asked, "How's everyone?"

Steve rolled his head to the left so he was looking at Barnes. "Everyone is fine. Wanda, Sam, Scott and Clint are still here, all alive and healthy. Natasha stops by on occasion to give us updates about the Accords." Steve paused to shoot Barnes a cheeky grin. "And to show up for a certain someone's _birthday_." Rogers had the audacity to sing the last part and Bucky responded by swatted Steve's arm with more force than he probably should have.

"You're unbelievable," Bucky rolled over so he wouldn't have to see Steve's gloating expression.

He could almost hear his friend shrug before he continued, "I'm just pointing out the facts as I see them."

"Well, then you need to get your eyes checked."

"My eyesight is just fine, thanks."

" _New_ subject!" Bucky declared before rolling back to face Steve. "How are things outside Wakanda?"

"Getting better." Steve flipped onto his stomach and rested his chin against his crossed arms. "The Accords are still a thing unfortunately, but they've been amended quite a bit. The world still hates us even though Tony is putting on a really good PR campaign to help all our images."

"And Stark?" Bucky winced premeditatively, not wanting to hear what was coming next but knowing he had to.

"Things are tough for him." Steve looked down at the grass and carded his hand through the blades. "Especially with us being gone. We're talking again though," he offered with a faint smile. "Still have some things to work out but I think we're on the right track."

Bucky nodded, the tight knot in his gut loosening slightly. "I'm glad to hear it. And the rest of his team?"

In hindsight, his phrasing could have been a little better since Steve visibly flinched. He opened his mouth to apologize but Steve waved him off. "I already told you about Natasha. Rhodey's walking again with Tony's exoskeleton and is back in the Air Force training new recruits. His War Machine duties have been limited to presidential protection only. Peter is back in school, flying through calculus but not doing so well in history. Vision, from what Tony tells me, is still learning about all his abilities and the world around him. He pretty much has free run at the new compound until the world readjusts to him. T'Challa had a few rough starts stepping into his father's shoes, but he's gained the public's confidence since and is leading well."

"And the blonde?" Bucky prompted. He wasn't interested in whatever had transpired between her and Steve—all he wanted to know was how she was, considering she had broken more than a few rules getting them outfitted back in Germany.

Steve's gaze flitted back to the grass before he said, "She's back at SHIELD running some sort of covert ops. Her name is Sharon by the way."

It looked like Rogers almost wanted to say something else but he shook his head almost imperceptibly and looked back at Bucky, who immediately dropped the subject, figuring he'd pressed his luck just about as much as he wanted his only day out of cryo. Unless T'Challa's people figured out a cure in the next twelve hours, he'd be going back after the end of Steve's plans.

Still, he couldn't help but breathe out a sigh of relief. Things obviously weren't perfect but they were as good as he could have hoped last May. "I'm really glad things are looking up," he said and Steve shot him a lopsided grin.

"Me too." Then he shook his head. "But enough of the serious talk! It's your birthday! What do you want to do?"

"I thought you already had it all planned out."

Steve shrugged. "Well I do, if you don't have a preference about what you want to do. I thought I'd give you a little time to get readjusted, in case you think of something you'd rather do instead."

"Nah, anything you have planned will be horrifying enough."

Steve snorted then shook his head in amusement. "Well in that case, we're meeting the rest of the team at four for cake, presents and movies."

"The rest of the team?" Bucky repeated. "And _presents_?" He hadn't been expecting that at all. Given all he'd done, all the trouble he'd put everyone through ten months ago, he didn't think they'd want to celebrate something like this with him.

"Well…yeah—you only turn 100 once." Steve pushed himself onto his elbows, his expression marred with confusion. "Like T'Challa said, it's a big deal Bucky. Everyone want to help you celebrate it properly."

"But I—"

"I guarantee you'll love everything they got you and that nothing is too terribly extravagant, if that helps."

Bucky considered this for a moment. If that was the case then it couldn't hurt for him to accept them. Besides, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a tiny bit excited about a real birthday party. He had only faint memories of his ones as a kid but they were colored with a warmth he had seen little of the past few years. "Yeah," he finally replied, "it does."

"Good." Steve laid back in the grass, threw out his arms and closed his eyes. "Until then, we can either soak up the rays—T'Challa assures me your new arm won't fluctuate with the external temperature anymore—or we can go back early."

Bucky shook his head and assumed a position similar to Steve's. "Sun is good."

So they laid there for the next few hours, mostly in silence, but towards the end, they began reminiscing about the old days, the good times—steering clear of any unhappy subjects—until Steve's phone beeped. "Time to go," he announced as he began packing up the empty plates.

Bucky sat up as well and collected a few dishes. As he handed them over to Steve, he looked down at the T-shirt and jeans he'd been given before they left the hospital. "Am I dressed alright?"

Steve grinned so widely Bucky thought his face was going to split in half but, in lieu of a verbal comment, his friend only nodded. "We're just going back to our house. It's nothing fancy."

Bucky sighed in relief that this wasn't going to be a fancy affair. He picked up his hydration backpack and was in the middle of slinging it onto his shoulder when a horrifying thought struck him. "Will there be singing?" he asked apprehensively.

This time, Steve laughed out loud. "Not unless you want there to be. I know how much you hate the 'Happy Birthday' song."

"It's a terrible song," Bucky retorted with a ferocity that surprised even him. "Way too few words and no one sounds good singing it."

"Ya know, some people would say it's the thought that counts," Steve deadpanned, though a smile was tugging on the corners of his mouth.

"And I do…did?" Bucky waited for Steve to confirm before continuing, "but I think it's better all-around if we just got to the cake sixty seconds faster."

"And your true motive is revealed!" Steve stated in a faux announcer's voice as he shouldered the food backpack and began walking down the trail. "I feel the need to inform you that the Wakandans are better bakers than they are cooks," he called over his shoulder.

Bucky caught up to Steve in two long strides. "What are we waiting for Rogers?"

Steve grinned then they took off in a jog down the mountain.

* * *

 _Steve was right,_ Bucky thought an hour later as he savored another slice of triple chocolate cake. _The Wakandans missed their calling being a technological giant: they should really focus more on distributing their baked goods._

It had taken him and Steve half an hour to get down the mountain. Instead of going back to the hospital though, Steve had led the way to a small but well-maintained block in the suburbs where he knocked thrice on the front door of the third house on the left before letting himself in. Bucky had hesitated, not knowing what to expect inside, before taking a deep breath and doing the same.

Fortunately, there had been no blackout entry and no one jumping out yelling "surprise", two facts for which he was extremely grateful. Instead, Sam, Natasha, and Scott had been standing in the main room, lights on, wearing those ridiculous pointed paper hats.

"Happy Birthday!" they'd all called as Clint walked into the front room carrying an absolutely enormous cake.

"Or welcome to 2017," the archer had called as he'd twirled out of Scott's way, keeping the engineer from running his finger through the frosting. He'd deposited the cake on the table and began cutting enormous pieces with the knife he'd pulled out of nowhere.

Bucky had chatted with everyone while eating his first two slices, his dislike for groups soothed by the sugar running through his veins. The third one though he took to the porch, which backed up to the mountain on which the castle and the hospital were built. He stared at the peaceful landscape while enjoying each bite of the cake.

Surprisingly, it was Scott who joined him a few minutes later, a second paper hat dangling from his hand. They stood in silence for a long moment before Ant-Man blurted out, "Do you like movies?"

Bucky slowly scanned the porch, making sure he was the only one Scott could be talking to, before nodding.

Scott looked relieved. "Good, cos they're queuing one up inside if you want to come back in."

Bucky nodded again.

"Great." Scott turned to leave but then spun back around and held out the hat. "Also, if you wear this, Clint and Sam owe me $100 each," he said in one rapid breath. "I'll give you fifty?"

"Seventy-five," Bucky found himself saying before he realized what he'd done.

Scott stared at him for a long moment then nodded approvingly. "Seventy-five it is." He held out the hat and Bucky was forced to put his cake on the railing to slide the dopey thing onto his head.

He didn't need superhearing to hear Clint curse from inside the house. "That's cheating Scott!" the archer shouted.

"You just said he had to wear it!" the engineer fired back. "You didn't say how."

Scott turned back and smiled widely at Bucky, who'd picked up his cake plate again. "Thanks man," he said, pointing two finger guns at Barnes before he disappeared back inside.

Bucky ate the last two bites of cake then followed, not wanting to be late for the movie. He left the hat on his head to secure his winnings, even though he was prepared to destroy any device that took a picture.

As he stepped back inside, he found the rest of the team had gathered in the living room on the couch and two overstuffed chairs. Clint curled up on the floor so Sam quickly snatched the last free seat on the couch, leaving an armchair for Bucky. The soldier paused to drop his plate in the trash then lowered himself into the incredibly plush chair. He leaned his head back against the cushion and felt each individual nerve in his system begin to relax.

"I heard you like sci-fi," Clint grinned as he punched play and the movie's credits began to roll.

" _The Martian?"_ Bucky read off the screen. "Is this about aliens?"

Clint shook his head, almost sadly. "I was told that was a movie for another day."

Just then, the screen shifted to beautiful panoramas of what was presumably Mars and the talking ceased.

When the movie was over and Bucky had affirmed it had been a fantastic choice, Clint dropped the remote and sprang to his feet. "Time for presents!" he declared as he sprinted out of the room.

As Wanda, Sam and Natasha followed at a much slower pace, Bucky turned to Steve. "Are you—"

"Yes," Steve interjected. "And before you ask, I didn't _make them_ do anything. They wanted to."

Bucky stared at his friend for a long moment, looking for any of the obvious signs of deception. He was even more confused when he didn't find any. "I barely even know some of them," he finally commented.

"Doesn't matter. You're practically family."

Before Bucky could respond, the team reentered, each holding a wrapped gift, and deposited them on the table in front of Bucky.

"You guys…" he began but didn't know the words to use to finish. He hadn't been lying earlier when he said he barely knew some of the team—he'd only spent a day and a half with them before deciding to go back into cryo, and most of that time had been spent in his own hospital room recuperating from his various injuries.

"Why don't you just open them?" Sam suggested.

Bucky nodded and began in his typical style, carefully lifting up the tape so as not to rip the wrapping paper.

There was a tap on his shoulder and he turned to face Steve. "Just rip the paper," his friend whispered, moving his arm in what was meant to be a subtle demonstration but in reality was anything but.

Bucky stared at the wrapping paper for a moment longer. They were all beautiful in their own way, some solid, some patterned, one even printed with Captain America shields. It would have cost his family a great deal for a variety of paper like that, back in his day.

But he trusted Steve.

So he ripped.

And gosh, it was a lot more fun that way.

He hadn't forgotten his manners though and spent a significant time examining each item then thoroughly thanking its giver. He received a knitted scarf and hat from Wanda (which was even more heartrending when he learned it was one of the few skills she remembered learning from her parents), a bottle of vodka Natasha promised he'll be able to feel even with his increased metabolism, a gorgeous rifle Clint had liberated on his latest stealth op, and a tricked-out walker from Sam complete with eyeglass holder, horn, and a sign warning about "impending senior moments".

"I thought you'd said I'd like everything," Bucky grumbled at Steve, who shrugged and pointed back at Sam, who was laughing into his hand.

"Just kidding man, here's your real present." The pararescue held out a small envelope. "Scott and I went in on it together."

Bucky carefully opened the envelope and slid out a gift receipt for a donation of $500 to the relief fund that had been set-up in the wake of the UN bombing.

He looked up at the two of them and nodded, unable to find the words to actually thank them. Even though he hadn't been the UN bomber, a great many people had lost their lives in Zemo's plot to tear the Avengers apart. And since that plan had been put into motion by Zemo targeting him for information about the events of December 16, 1991, he felt partially responsible. Given Sam and Scott's current situation, the fact that they'd found five hundred dollars to donate was incredibly touching.

Sam responded by clapping him on the shoulder. "You think that's bad, wait 'til you open Steve's."

Bucky shot his friend an unamused look.

"I think Sam means it might be an emotional gift," Steve explained with a one-shouldered shrug. "I hope you like it though."

Bucky very slowly ripped the paper on the last gift, revealing a framed photo of his family, yellowed and peeling at the edges. He couldn't have been more than six years old in the pictures and very obviously uncomfortable in the formal wear.

Bucky ran his thumb over the glass and stared at his mom, his dad, his sisters.

"Thank you," he muttered, a variety of unwanted emotions welling up inside his chest.

Steve just slung his arm around Bucky's shoulder and pulled him in for a sideways hug. "You're welcome, Bucky. Happy birthday."

* * *

Surprisingly, Steve didn't press the issue about Bucky going back into cryo. The sniper had pulled him aside during a scheduled bathroom break before the next movie because that fact had been eating at him, in case Steve thought this was a permanent thing.

Rogers had just nodded and verbalized that he understood, but that he felt it was important for Bucky to have this day with his friends. They'd then settled back down in the living room for this year's best animated movie, which Bucky also thoroughly enjoyed.

When that was over, he said his goodbyes and thanked everyone again for his gifts, bundling them up (even the walker) to take back to his cryo tube. Once he and Steve, who had insisted on coming along, were back at the hospital, Bucky took the next hour to surf the web, catch up on other political events, and confirm that the version of events Steve had told him was indicative of the real situation. Not that Steve would have lied to him of course, but the soldier had a way of painting some situations to be less serious than they really were. Bucky was relieved to discover that Steve had indeed been accurate with his assessment of the progress of Avengers and the Accords.

After that, he managed a quick call to T'Challa, who regrettably couldn't meet in person, to discuss the work being done for his trigger words. He was thrilled to learn that the Wakandan scientists had a few viable ideas that would be ready for testing by August. In his final minutes with the King, Bucky discussed a private matter which was agreed upon before T'Challa once again wished him a happy birthday and ended the call.

With that all done, he gave Steve a hug, thanked him for the wonderful day, then arranged his gifts outside the cyo unit—not that he would be able to see them but he loved the idea that they were there.

It was harder than he would have thought to go back into the more-humane cryo unit but, with his new scarf wrapped around his neck and the hat pulled down around his ears, he knew his friends wouldn't stop trying until the trigger words were eliminated, until he wasn't in danger of blindly hurting anyone ever again.

* * *

 _116 days later…_

"Rise and shine Rogers," a voice sang softly.

"G'away Buck," Steve mumbled as he rolled over in bed and pulled the sheets up to his nose. Then he sat straight up and looked left to see Bucky leaning over the bed, holding out a cupcake. "Happy Birthday Rog—ooof!"

The wind rushed out of his lungs as Steve launched himself at his friend, in what was colloquially referred to as an 'attack hug'. Bucky had barely a second to take a step back to keep the two of them from crashing to the ground.

"You're awake," Steve mumbled into Bucky's shoulder, pulling his friend close.

"What makes you think I'd sleep through your 99th birthday?" Bucky grinned. "I've been told you only turn 99 once."

He allowed Steve to hug him for another minute before he pulled away. "You're wasting daylight, Rogers. Be downstairs, ready to go in ten."

"Ready for what?"

Bucky grinned then walked into the hallway, leaving Steve protesting the unfairness of it all in the background.

At the staircase, he pulled a very long list from his pocket and, smiling to himself, checked off the first item.

Steve's birthday was going to be nothing if not memorable: Bucky had made sure of that.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!**


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